


sun warm, salt stain

by wintersrose616



Series: sun warm, salt stain [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24342022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Sylvain only lets himself think for a fraction of a second. He’s certain if he let his brain catch up with his actions, a screeching halt would be put into place on this plan of his. Instead, he braces his hands on the edge of the dock, swinging his upper body over. The waves lap at the ends of his hair, but his focus narrows in on the face barely peeking up above the water’s surface. Strands of golden hair float listlessly in the water, falling messily into the man’s face, half pushed back by the hand he’s got rubbing the back of his head, showing off blue scales that lead to fins framing the sides of his face.Even though the other is covered in a swath of scars, Sylvain knows instinctively he’s seen that shade of blue before in the blue eye that meets his..Sylvain knows three facts about mermaids: they don't venture near the surface, they're mistrustful of humans, and the ones that do come close to the shores are only looking for a quick meal. Fortunately for him, Dimitri disproves all of that.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: sun warm, salt stain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779427
Comments: 34
Kudos: 170





	sun warm, salt stain

**Author's Note:**

> just so everyone is aware before they try to tackle this, there is past child abuse mentioned in this, as well as two scenes where potential drowning is described. not in terrible detail, but they are still there, so if anyone wants to skip reading this because of that, I understand! take care of yourselves!

The skies are still clear as the jeep bumbles down the road. Hilda and Marianne are camped out in the backseat atop towels, their bags up front, next to Sylvain’s elbow where it’s dug into the armrest, so the seawater doesn't ruin the fabric with salt stains. The sun shines brightly overhead, and Sylvain glances in the rearview as he squints behind his sunglasses to see Hilda stretching her arms over her head before he brings his gaze back to the road. 

A hand lands on his shoulder as Hilda leans up. 

“Did you unbuckle?” he asks, frowning.

“I’m still _buckled_ ,” she huffs. Her fingers slip down to adjust the silver chain around his neck, half-caught under the edge of his seatbelt. “I wanted to thank you for driving us today!” 

“It was very kind of you,” adds Marianne, her gentle voice barely audible over the wind rushing by. 

“You know I don’t mind,” he says. “Holst won’t be able to drive you guys for awhile, right?” 

“He won’t be back in town until the end of the month,” Hilda drawls, her voice forcibly petulant. “He’s busy with ' _the business_.'"

Sylvain hums, before lifting his hand to pat Hilda’s. “Sit back, you’re being unsafe.”

He can _hear_ her eye roll, hidden behind rose gold sunglasses, before she quickly pecks his cheek then settles back. “You’re such a mom.”

“Hence why you’re in my car, and not in the backseat of a cab,” he retorts, not an ounce of heat in his words.

“I think it’s sweet,” says Marianne.

Sylvain grins, glancing over his shoulder to make sure she spots it. He follows the rest of the route, ingrained in his mind, ‘til he reaches the street that holds the Edmund house. Marianne only lives three minutes away from Ingrid, and if he was desperate for a dinner partner, he’d swing by and pick her up. 

He figures he should get home instead of taking Ingrid out, though. His father isn’t due back for another two days, and his mother’s been _antsy_ about it, wanting Sylvain home more than not, as if he wasn’t in the final summer before his final year in college, wanting to do nothing more than spend his days at the beach. 

The driveway to Marianne’s house is empty, unsurprisingly. Like Holst, Marianne’s father is away more often than not, which means it’s easier for Hilda to camp out outside of her own family’s house. The women gather their things before Sylvain’s given twin cheek kisses from them, their damp hair tickling his neck and still smelling like salt as they clambour out of the car.

Hilda stops just at the driver’s door, her arms full of towels as she leans up on her toes to be at almost eye level. “Next weekend, too?”

Sylvain grins, pushing his sunglasses up on top of his head. “That sounds like a plan. Should I invite Ingrid?” 

“Ooh!” Hilda’s eyes practically _sparkle_ at that idea. “Definitely! I’ll text you when we come up with a plan, alright? Try to invite Felix, too! I know he’ll be grumpy, but he can hang out with you on the beach instead of pouting in his room!”

Sylvain nods, lifting his hand in a wave. He adjusts the glasses back on his face as he waits, watching until Marianne has unlocked the door. She shoots him a shy wave before disappearing inside after Hilda.

The drive back to the Gautier estate is filled with less enjoyment. The day at the beach had left him feeling warm, happy. He had spent it lounged on a beach towel under Hilda’s umbrella reading, acting as a guard to their stuff while the ladies played in the shallows. It wasn’t the first time he had been called on to do so, nor would it be the last. It was always easier when his father was away and not pestering him, though he had long since stopped trying to pretend he wasn’t a disappointment.

The estate itself backs onto its own private beach, further away from the town than Sylvain had ever enjoyed. In his high school years, sneaking out had been nothing short of a nightmare. He had resorted to claiming to be spending more nights at Felix and Glenn’s, since their home was closer to the school he went to. During his first two years at college, living on the campus was so much nicer than Sylvain could’ve ever imagined, and when he returned home, he and his father had come up with a better way to coexist—ignoring each other. Despite how desperate his mother was to try to repair their relationship, Sylvain was far too over it. He barely spoke to either unless it was necessary; his days were spent outside of the property’s gates. 

Sylvain knew that these last few months he had before his final year started were ones he needed to cherish. His father was gearing up for him to start working at the company immediately after graduation. Sylvain would rather pack up his beaten-up jeep and flee to the countryside, but knew the responsibilities he had were ones he couldn’t run from, not when it was something stable he could rely on.

That thought doesn’t stop him from pausing when the car shambles down the drive and he sees his father’s sleek, pristine car parked just outside of the garage. The sense of dread that fills his stomach, weighing him down, is enough for every good thought of the day to go flying out the window. He knows how he looks—how it _will_ look like when he walks in, trailing a path of sand from the entranceway to his room.

It wasn’t too late. The sun hasn’t set. He could text Hilda and ask if Marianne’s guestroom could house him for the night. He could even crash Rodrigue’s family dinner night, only suffering Glenn’s mild complaints until he told them all his father was back from his business trip early.

He puts a stop to those thoughts before they can fully form enough for him to actually act on one. His familial issues didn’t need to become a _thing_ outside of the property’s gates. His friends didn’t need to be bothered by Sylvain’s fatherly issues. He was an adult, he could handle things. He had done it by himself so far, anyway.

Handling things, it turns out, means leaving all of his things in the car and dipping around the house’s edge to follow the old, weatherworn trail to the sea. Sylvain’s never truly found solace in the waters, not like most of his friends, but he knows that the docks that his family owns haven’t been touched in years. No one that lived on the property went down to the beach, and Sylvain truly only ever went when he was younger and Felix came over to play in the waters with Glenn watching from afar. It was the only place to truly be alone.

The main pier, sticking out far enough into the waters for any number of his father’s boats, has remained empty for over a decade. After the incident on the trawler when he was twelve, his father had put all of them into the main harbour, miles away from the estate. The only thing close they had on the property was the small bowrider that was locked up in one of the garages, out of Miklan’s reach when he had still lived at the estate. 

The sun paints long lines in the sand as Sylvain kicks his sandals off before heading across the dock. The wood’s been warmed by the sun, and the waves that gently roll in part around it, leaving white foam to float in rhythmic patterns to his left and right.

He settles at the edge, keeping his legs crossed so he’s not leaning any part of his body over the water. He’s not fearful of it, just _aware_. His eyes go over the water, the hues of blue shimmering in the low light of the setting sun. It’s not quiet in the slightest, but it’s still relaxing. The water rushes by in steady waves, filling the air with the scent of salt and the sound of the sea. There’s the cawing of seagulls far off on the small, rocky cape, the seaspray catching his legs from where he’s perched.

It’s peaceful, all things considered. He sits back with his hands flat on the pier behind him, tilting his head up to the warm sunbeams that are stubbornly refusing to concede defeat to the sunset. As soon as the sun dips beyond the horizon, the breeze will be tinged with a chill. He doubts it’ll be too biting, but it would be smart to head back when that happens. He’s certain no one would care if he didn’t return home until later, or even _notice_ , but he promised Felix he would go with him on one of his morning jogs, just to get him off his back about Sylvain’s laziness.

For now, though, he’s content. The sound of the water melds into white noise, letting him just relax and let his thoughts drift to happier places. 

The tranquility lasts for an indiscernible amount of time. He’s not sure how long he sits, enjoying the last beams of the sun, but it’s interrupted by a thud against the bottom of the dock. Sylvain blinks, startled out of his reverie, almost certain he’s imagined it until he hears a softly muttered, “Damn. _Ow_.” 

His heart stops beating for a tense second. _There’s someone under the pier_ , is Sylvain’s first thought. His second is, _I’ve got to check._

Sylvain only lets himself think for a fraction of a second. He’s certain if he let his brain catch up with his actions, a screeching halt would be put into place on this plan of his. Instead, he braces his hands on the edge of the dock, swinging his upper body over. The waves lap at the ends of his hair, but his focus narrows in on the face barely peeking up above the water’s surface. Strands of golden hair float listlessly in the water, falling messily into the man’s face, half pushed back by the hand he’s got rubbing the back of his head, showing off blue scales that lead to fins framing the sides of his face.

Both he and the man freeze at Sylvain’s action. There’s a moment where Sylvain’s eyes track over what he can see—one blue eye, the other lined shut with scar tissue, broad shoulders with their own share of scars and nicks. His gaze doesn’t wander that far, though, drawn back up to the man’s eye like a trance. Even though the other is covered, Sylvain knows instinctively he’s seen that shade of blue before. 

The colour jolts him back to a stormy night, when he was still too young to understand what Miklan’s goal was with his cruel games. _A quick, nighttime boat ride._ Miklan had claimed it was Sylvain’s insistence, later on, though Sylvain can’t ever remember a desire to go out to the sea at night. The storm had taken them by surprise, Miklan claimed, though Sylvain remembers hearing the thunder rumbling before they had even gotten aboard the trawler. Miklan had claimed a lot of things, after Sylvain had winded up crawling his way back home from where he had wound up on the shore. _He slipped_. Slipped and fell overboard and Miklan had done what he could to find him, but Sylvain had ended up lost to the sea.

Except Sylvain knows he didn’t slip. 

He remembers the pressure on his shoulders, shoving him over the railing of the boat. He remembers the panic that had clawed its way up his throat as soon as he hit the water. Every single swim lesson going out the window as a current caught him and dragged him while he thrashed. The only thing that stalled his panic was a voice reaching his ears under the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears, sounding earnest and bold. _You’ll be alright_ , they assured, _I’ll bring you to shore_. Hands had gripped him under his arms as he battled against the water, fingers leading to blue-hued claws. A tail fin had lashed behind his legs, pushing them through the waters up, and Sylvain had followed it up, _up_ to meet a pair of brilliantly blue eyes, bright even in the stormy seas.

Sylvain barely catches himself from falling over the edge of the dock as recognition shocks through him. The man blinks at him, his eye going wide. There’s a moment where they just stare at one another, before the man goes red, the blush crawling down his face to his neck. Before Sylvain can gather himself to speak, he dives, tail slipping over the water’s edge and sending a splash up that catches Sylvain in the face. 

“Wait—!” 

He scrambles back upright, scanning the waters, but he’s gone. He leans forward, still trying to spot a tailfin in the white-fringed waves breaking against the shores. The man— _the merman_ , his brain corrects—is either gone, or lurking too deep for the remnants of the sun to reach in the water. 

He stays on the pier for a little longer, waiting until the sun finally dips beyond the ocean’s edge, leaving him in the grey-blue light of dusk. He rises to his feet, still keeping his eyes out for any odd movement in the water as he heads back to the shore. 

There’s nothing by the time his feet hit the damp sand of the beach and with a resolute breath, Sylvain sets his shoulders, and makes his way to end up being fashionably late to dinner.

**.**

“What’s happened?” 

Dedue catches him by surprise, which tells Dimitri just how out of it he must be. As soon as he crossed the threshold into their territory, he should have expected Dedue, but he hadn’t. All of his thoughts are still with the human at the pier, and the dull pain at the crown of his head that had startled them both into meeting each other’s gazes. 

Dimitri knows how he must look—how frazzled he must seem. He turns to Dedue with a wide eye, still trying to parse just what he had felt upon locking eyes with the human on the dock. Dedue’s expression is morphing from surprise at his state, to concern. Dimitri tries to soothe him, thinks of anything he could say to stop the worry, but all that comes out is the truth.

“I hit my head,” he states.

Dedue blinks, before his entire posture goes into _care_ mode.

“Oh, Dedue, truly, I’m fine, I just—”

His words die on his tongue as Dedue swims around him, his claws already going through Dimitri’s hair, trying to assess if there’s anything more than a bump.

Dimitri’s _fine_ , and he tells him as such, twisting out of his grasp. “I was— _startled_ , is all.” 

He hadn’t been, at first. Well, he _had_ , but that’s because the sunbeams in the water had distorted just how far the dock was above the water’s surface. He hadn’t even meant to kick his fin that hard, it had just happened, and the next thing he knew, his head hit the wooden planks. The main startling had happened after, when the human had swung over the end of the dock, having obviously heard Dimtri’s muttered curses. 

He had recognised him at once. It had been years since he had seen that shock of red hair, those tawny-amber eyes, which had widened first in shock, then recognition. His scent, too, had tickled the back of Dimitri’s nose, familiar in the way that it shouldn’t have been, after one fateful encounter on a stormy night years before. 

Dimitri hadn’t stayed around to find out if the human truly remembered him. He had panicked, ignored the human’s shout after him, and had swam straight home.

Dedue frowns when Dimitri turns in the water to face him. “What did you hit your head on? There’s no bump that I can feel.”

“It was not a hard hit,” Dimitri states. “I just. . .headbutted a pier.”

Dedue’s eyes widen in shock. “A _pier_? You went near the shores?” 

“I went to the same shore I always go to,” he states. “Where there have not been humans in years.”

“Did you encounter one?”

“I did _after_ hitting my head. It’s fine, it was not that big of a deal.”

“Any encounter with a human could be a big deal, Your Majesty.”

“Again with the title,” he sighs. “I’m fine, Dedue.”

He knows Dedue only cares for his well being. Dimitri’s impulsiveness sometimes gets the better of him, outdoing any of his common sense. When that happens, Dedue normally intervenes, but Dimitri has been doing this for _years_. The waters at the shores didn’t even have boats at the docks. No humans normally go near them; he thought he was safe. 

When he tells Dedue as such, all he gets is a frown. “You shouldn’t trust humans, Dimitri. What if they had hurt you?” 

That makes him pause, blinking. He turns to Dedue, skeptical. “You think a human could hurt me?” 

“I think they have tried before,” Dedue states, his eyes honing in on the scar that marrs his shoulder. “I think they will try again.”

_Perhaps_ , he thinks to agree, _but also not_. He doesn’t say as such, just frowns. He knows Dedue is only showing how much he cares, but Dimitri also knows he is Dedue’s _king_. He can handle himself—he has the scars and stories to prove that. 

“It’s true, Your Majesty.” 

The soft voice that floats along through the water makes him pause. He had not heard Annette approach, but there she was, orange fin sparkling in the moonlight while her hair glides in the current around them, some loose strands covering her face. 

“You can’t trust the humans, no matter how kind they may seem.” 

Dimitri feels his frown deepen. It was bad enough getting a lecture from Dedue about it, but from Annette as well, he feels nothing short of betrayed. The human he had seen, he _knew_. He knows, deep within himself that they had met before, back when things were less complicated, when he was still bright eyed and looking forward to ruling. 

“It matters not,” he decides, nodding at them. The finality in his tone has them both straightening. It is not his favourite thing to do, to use his _kingly voice_ , as Ashe put it, but it does come with benefits. “I am fine. We have other matters to attend to, do we not?” 

Dedue is still frowning, but Dimitri knows his own frown is far worse. Annette hums, saying she’ll go fetch Ashe. Dimitri waits just a moment longer, glancing back towards the direction that leads to the shore, before following.

He normally did not require council as late into the night as it was. He had requested his personal council to meet for matters he did not wish to discuss with the council at large. The kingdom was still recovering from the war, and the bickering of the nobles, alongside the needs of the common folk, could get to be too much to handle in the morning meetings. It was his responsibility as their king to do what was best—and what felt best was drawing on the support he had in those he trusted most. 

He feels most at ease as soon as they’re near the edge of the Kingdom proper. The entire expanse of the Kingdom’s territory is bordered by one of the major gyres, the strong currents surrounding it acting as a protective barrier that not many dared to cross. 

Edelgard’s forces from the west had been the first attack in decades, a full force that had broken any ounce of peace between them and Adrestia. 

Dimitri keeps pace with Annette and Dedue as they pass the periphery edge of the city, the guards saluting him as he passes through. The palace shimmers in the bright light that shimmer down from the moon and stars above the water. The nacre walls stand tall over the edge of the kingdom city, reflecting the light in scintillating bursts of colour. The barrier reef just beyond the city’s edges is alive in the current, and Dimitri tries not to focus on how much still needs to be repaired as he listens to the sounds of the Kingdom settling in for the night. 

The city had been the first priority; most of the damaged buildings had been repaired. The coral reef itself needed a more tender approach. Dedue had taken it on his shoulders to oversee it, but Dimitri knew progress was far slower than anyone liked.

Annette swims off ahead of them, determined to find Ashe before everyone could be considered late. Dedue allows Dimitri to go into the main council room first, where his most trusted friends and allies are lazily swaying in the water, waiting for his arrival. Claude notices him first, golden tail flicking as he rights himself, dropping his hands from where they rested behind his head. Mercedes and Caspar are waiting further down, Caspar chattering excitedly while Mercedes nods along. Lorenz is just beside them, his eyes not straying from the focus he has on the tips of his claws. 

Dimitri feels he should apologize, almost gets one out, but Claude speaks before he can even manage to formulate it. 

“Ah, our intrepid saviour returns from his adventure!” Claude smirks at him when Dimitri slips through the archway. His amusement lasts only a fraction of a second, before it's replaced by a furrowed brow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dimitri speaks too quickly. He pauses, clearing his throat with a light shake of his head. “I startled myself earlier, but I’m fine.”

“Oh no.” Mercedes’ voice floats to him, her hand covering her mouth as she looks to him in concern. “What happened?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I am _fine_ ,” he states. “I do not need you all worrying yourselves over it. It was something silly, there is no need to focus on that, when we have more important things to deal with.”

“Apologies!” comes a hurried call from beyond the archway. Annette and Ashe swim in together, Ashe looking far more frantic than needed. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!”

“It is all right, Ashe,” Dimitri says, smiling. “I was late myself.”

“Oh, barely,” drawls Claude, waving his hand through the water. “It’s fine, though. We’re all ready to begin with your say, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri smiles, his shoulders relaxing. It will not be an easy meeting—they never are—but he feels leagues better than he had even half an hour before.

“Then let us begin.”

**.**

Leaving in the early morning unnoticed is far easier than it had been in his youth. 

Sylvain slips out of the house before the sun has even thought to start rising over the horizon, passing quietly by the workers that are just starting to rouse themselves for the day with his shoes in hand. He tugs them on outside, only bothering to tie the laces up when he’s settled in the driver’s seat of the jeep. His car is obnoxiously loud in the quiet of the morning, but he endures it as he puts it into drive to get away from the estate. 

Felix is already waiting for him when Sylvain pulls to a stop at the curb outside of the Fraldarius’ family house. His hair’s tied up, eyes sharp when they land on Sylvain. His workout clothes are completely different from Sylvain’s. Over his leggings, he’s donned a pair of shorts, his shirt form clinging to whisk away moisture. Sylvain’s own clothes are more baggy than flattering, but he doesn’t do this often enough to justify his own version of the athleisure wardrobe Felix has. 

Felix never turns down an opportunity to have a running partner, though he always claims he prefers these things alone. He had jumped at the offer Sylvain had given of joining him, though even that barely concealed excitement doesn’t stop the way his coppery eyes roll when Sylvain hops out of the driver’s seat.

“If you were serious about this, you would’ve walked here.”

“Walked—? Felix, that would’ve taken half an hour!” 

Felix quirks a brow, amusement curling his lips in a small smirk, though he turns his head before Sylvain can fully process the sight of it. 

“C’mon. I’ll leave you behind if you can’t keep up.”

It’s not the first time Sylvain’s joined Felix for one of his pre-dawn runs. During the spring semester, Felix had all but bullied him into them before they had to go to their joint eight o’clock lecture. Sylvain had kept his complaining to a minimum then, only really putting on a show when Felix would glance over at him. Today, he’s quiet, still stuck in his thoughts of the night before. Felix obviously notices, but he doesn’t voice anything, just keeps shooting Sylvain quiet looks whenever he thinks Sylvain won’t spot them. 

Felix’s runs are never _easy_ , but Sylvain’s always been able to endure them. Still, the relief he feels in his legs when Felix veers off the trail to head towards the beach makes Sylvain’s entire body feel light. There’s only one restaurant open as early as it is, and Sylvain knows the only worker who might be glad to see them as sweaty as they are will be working.

The diner sits a few paces away from the boardwalk, plucked straight out of a 50's dream catalogue. The neon sign flickers, on its last legs, as they walk up to it, Sylvain trying to get his calves to stop burning. The interior isn't much better. Pleather booths line the striped wall, a counter stretched off across the way with spaced out stools that Sylvain has fallen asleep on on more than one binge drink weekend.

When they walk in, they’re met with the familiar smell of syrup and over-cooked bacon, but it’s enough to get Sylvain’s stomach rumbling. The only other patrons in the place are two old men chatting away at the countertop. Sylvain recognises the waitress that comes around the counter to lead them to a table at once. 

Dorothea’s eyes flick over them before her nose wrinkles in slight distaste at the state they’re in. She’s dressed in the bright red dress that’s standard uniform for the diner, the colour matching the pleather seats of the booths. Her hair’s tied up in braided buns, and she looks impeccable, as if it’s not six-thirty in the morning. Her makeup looks as fresh as it had when she applied it, lips painted only a few shades darker than the red she wears. They purse as she looks them over.

“Wow,” she says. “You two look. . .rough.”

Felix scoffs as Sylvain huffs a laugh.

“We went for a run.”

“Oh.” Her nose wrinkles again. “Sure, okay. Follow me.”

They claim the corner booth, far enough that the tinny music pumping through the speakers blocks out the old men at the other end of the diner. Sylvain adjusts the collar of his shirt, tugging the chain around his neck to get it to unstick from his skin. They order water as they settle and Dorothea passes them menus before departing to get them their drinks. 

His legs feel like jelly, overriding the burning of his muscles just from the brief bit they’ve been sitting. He idly wonders if Dorothea would be willing to give them a ride back to Felix’s if he asked her. He has his doubts about it. While his puppy dog eyes were killer, they never normally worked on her. Sylvain was used to asking Dorothea for things more than ten times before she finally agreed.

Eleven was normally the magic number with her. 

“So,” Felix starts, and when Sylvain glances up from trying to pick a food, his eyes drop to his own menu, steadfastly avoiding eye contact.

“So?” he prods, angling his head to try to get Felix to look up.

Felix’s lips press together, his face contorting slightly as he thinks over his words. “What happened?”

Sylvain blinks. “What?”

“You’ve never not complained when we go on a jog—”

“Wait, you’re considering that a _jog_?”

“—and you were suspiciously quiet last night, too. I was expecting you to text me about your day with Hilda and Marianne.”

Sylvain hums, dropping his own eyes. He spots Felix looking up as soon as he does, but he gives him a break, favouring just propping his chin in his hand. “My dad came back early.”

“Oh.”

Sylvain shrugs. “It was fine. I tracked sand in and my mother almost had a conniption.” He looks up with a rueful grin. “I took dinner to-go in my room.”

Felix is still frowning. “You should’ve come over.”

He gives another shrug, slow and languid. “I thought about it. It wasn’t that bad, though. I went to the dock for a bit before I headed in.”

That surprises Felix. His eyebrows raise before he can school the shock off his face. “Yeah?”

Sylvain nods. “It was nice. Not quiet, but peaceful.” He doesn’t add, _Until a mermaid hit his head against the dock and scared the shit out of us both._

Felix snorts. “It’s never quiet at the beach. The seagulls are too damn loud.”

Before Sylvain can mention the impromptu visitor he received, Dorothea returns with their glasses of water, pulling her notepad out from the apron tied around her waist. Sylvain already figured he was paying—Felix has no way of carrying a wallet on him with his clothes, and Sylvain’s own was zipped into his pocket—but it’s obvious by the amount of food Felix orders. 

“You two walked here, didn’t you?” Dorothea asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Is it smart to order _this_ much?”

Sylvain nods. “I was thinking of asking you if you’d be so kind to give us a ride back to Felix’s when your shift’s over.”

Dorothea’s eyes roll. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What if I ask again when you bring the food?”

She huffs a breath, though she’s smiling. She knows the game. “Doutable,” she says, anyway. “Why don’t you call Ingrid and see if she’ll take pity on you two?”

“She’ll be mad we didn’t order her food.”

“Should’ve thought of that earlier, dear,” Dorothea drawls. She holds her hand out, and they pass her the menus. “I’ll put your orders in!”

Felix waits until she’s out of hearing. “We can walk back.”

“Felix, I can’t feel my calves,” Sylvain half-whines.

“You need to work out more, then.”

Sylvain makes another whined noise, which just receives a dramatic eye roll. Felix seems mostly satisfied with Sylvain’s mood being equated to his father’s return and no more questions get asked about his unsettling quiet. They sit in relative silence, listening to the staticy pop music that floats around them, until Sylvain breaks it.

“When was the last time you went to the beach?” 

Felix’s lips turn down. “Glenn and I went earlier this week.” His eyes narrow. “Why?” 

“I’ve been thinking about mermaids.”

“What? Why?”

Sylvain forces his shoulders to relax. “I don’t know,” he says. “Just thinking about them coming close to the shore.”

“Mermaids don’t get _close_ to the shore.” Felix’s lips curl in a sneer. “They only want to get close to humans to snack on us.”

Sylvain hums, lifting the straw wrapper to roll it over his knuckles. “You think they’re all monsters?”

“That would be like saying all humans are,” Felix states. “But I know the ones that _do_ come near the beaches are looking for a quick meal.”

Sylvain curls his fingers, crinkling the wrapper. He narrows his eyes as he slides his gaze back to Felix. “You think human meat tastes good to them?” 

_“What_?”

“It’s a decent question!” 

“I don’t want to know _what_ you two are discussing!” Dorothea says, cheerfully, plates balanced on her hands. 

“Sylvain wants to know if mermaids think humans taste good,” says Felix.

Dorothea’s face morphs to disgust as she looks at him. “Why would you want to know that?” 

“I’m just saying, mermaids don’t _normally_ attack humans,” he protests. “When was the last time you heard of an attack? They probably think we taste bad.”

“Ugh. If I agree to give you two a ride home, will you _please_ change topics?” 

Sylvain brightens, grinning. “With pleasure!” 

She rolls her eyes. “Just let me know if you two need anything else.”

The rest of their breakfast passes with relative ease. Felix has a fencing lesson in the afternoon that he refuses to miss, and Dorothea’s shift ends only a little bit after they finish eating. He makes sure to heap her with extra tip money which she takes with a haughty grin, though the blush that colours her cheeks a dusty rose tells him she wasn’t fully expecting it, despite Sylvain _always_ overtipping when he dines out. 

She dictates that Felix and Sylvain _must_ sit in the backseat, as if she doesn’t smell like stale french fries and diner grease—though Sylvain knows he’d go to his grave before ever telling her that. 

Glenn’s leaning against the jeep with a perfect imitation of a scowl on his face when Dorothea pulls up in front of the Fraldarius house. Sylvain leans up to give her a cheek kiss, which Dorothea stops with a palm in his face, while Felix calls a, “ _bye_ ,” as he clambours out of the car. 

“Y’know, we’re all planning a day out at the beach this weekend, if you want to join us,” he says.

She hums. “Maybe. I have a date, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“You have a date? Without me?” 

Dorothea smiles, a feline smirk, her eyes twinkling. “Bye, Sylvain.”

He rolls his eyes, thanking her for the ride as he climbs out. Glenn’s still leaning against his car, while Felix is dutifully informing him of the trail they took on their run. 

“I’m surprised Gautier kept up.”

“Ha, ha,” Sylvain drawls. “Good morning to you, too, Glenn.”

Glenn quirks a brow at him before turning his attention back to Felix, who’s still talking in that excited way that’s solely reserved for his older brother. Sylvain rolls his eyes, more fond of them than anything else, as he leans over the hood of the jeep, elbows resting against the metal.

“Does this need to happen against my car?” asks Sylvain. “Can I leave?”

“Are you asking permission?” Glenn counters, not looking back at him.

“Well, I wouldn’t need to, if you weren’t in the prime position of getting run over if I try to drive off without it.”

Felix huffs. “I need to shower anyway.” 

_“‘Bye, Sylvain, thanks for coming with me on my run and thanks for buying breakfast! You’re my best friend_!’ Oh, no problem, Fe, I love hanging out with you!” 

Glenn gives him a look while Felix rolls his eyes, giving him a decidedly not nice gesture while he casually jogs up towards the house. Before he can open the door to the jeep, Felix stops on the porch, turning to call, “It wasn’t awful. I’m glad you’ve learned to keep up.”

Sylvain's own eyes roll, though he smiles regardless. Sylvain has had nearly two decades to decipher Felix’s prickly exterior and the more subtle ways he expresses his emotions.

It’s Glenn’s he’s still deeply unsettled by, no matter how long he’s known both Fraldariuses. 

The drive back to the estate is easier than he wished it would be. He arrives too quickly, given how desperately he wants to _not_ be home. He sends Felix a text when he’s parked in the drive, letting him know he’s gotten home alright, and Felix sends him back a thumbs up all before Sylvain’s managed to gather the nerve to get out of his vehicle. 

He lingers as soon as his feet hit the ground, taking a moment. He can hear the water from here. It’s a shot in the dark, but he thinks _maybe_ he’ll snag a glimpse of what he’s been thinking about since last night.

The waters are calm, the waves rhythmic in their dance to the shore. He kicks his shoes and socks off at the top of the trail, so he doesn’t catch sand in them, and heads down. The pier has a couple birds on it that take off in flight when he starts walking down it. 

He’s halfway down the dock when he stops, pausing, eyes roaming the waters. He tries not to focus on it as he keeps his gaze alert, finishes walking to the edge of the dock, and sits down.

He’s being watched. 

He can feel it, inkling up his spine, sending the hair on the back of his neck on end. He squints, trying to piece out a slightly different shade from the blue hue of the water. The seagulls chatter to one another, oblivious to Sylvain’s turmoil as he looks over the swells. 

It’s only a few moments later when he sees the fin, slowly cresting the water, different from any other fin he’s seen in the waters this close to shore before. It’s obvious he’s trying _not_ to be spotted, and the dorsal fin is swallowed with another wave. A moment later, he sees a face pop up, still far enough out to be just a blur, but easily identifiable. 

Sylvain huffs a tiny breath at how quickly that shade of gold descends when he realizes he’s been spotted. He shifts how he’s sitting, stretching one leg over the edge of the wood. His heart almost chokes him, tightening his throat as he lets his leg dangle. It takes him a few moments, a few deep, counted breaths, to get his heart to stop racing.

Perhaps it’s not his best decision. Perhaps he could just be trying to lure Sylvain into the waters for a quick snack, and him letting his legs swing is a perfect way to entice him into pulling him into the waters. 

“I’m not going to bother you,” he calls, his voice swallowed up by the sound of the waves. “I think I know you, though.” 

He sees his head peak out above the waters, far enough away that Sylvain can’t see anything more than a flaxen blurb, sticking out against the aegean waters behind him. Sylvain hums, leaning back so that he’s not watching. He thinks that maybe it might soothe him. He knows how intense being the sole center of anyone’s attention could be, if you weren’t prepared for it, and he’s obviously not prepared for eyes to be on him.

“I think you know me, too,” he adds, his words directed towards the sky. His toes skim the water’s surface, just barely dipping below. He tries not to think about how panicked the feeling of the ocean touching his foot makes him feel. He’s fine. He’s _fine_. 

He knows even if he slips, someone will be there to catch him.

**.**

Dimitri hadn’t meant to return, especially so soon after being spotted. It had taken a lot more to convince Dedue he could handle himself than it normally would. He had tried everything, resorting to what he knew would most likely work. 

_Are you not always asking me to take a day to rest, Dedue?_ he had asked. 

Dedue had not been impressed. _Adventuring off towards the shores is not resting, Your Majesty._

He hadn’t wanted to brush off Dedue’s obvious concern—he knew his friends cared, and that was where it came from, but Dimitri was their king. He had the ability to protect himself. By the time he had convinced Dedue he had every right to leave on his own, it was well past sunrise. The piers were still standing like beacons in the water when he reached the shores. Dimitri had been nervous, regardless, that he had somehow missed his chance. 

He just wasn’t quite sure what his chance _was_. 

He spends a good portion of time foolishly keeping his eye on the shore. Last night was a rare occurrence. He’s been coming to this spot of the shore for years _because_ of that. He knows the humans hardly ever come close. 

He does not know how he feels about being wrong. 

He keeps his distance, even when his hearing picks up the sounds of a human approaching. When the human comes back, looking exhausted, but brimming with an aura of happiness, Dimitri doesn’t know what to make of it. His legs move with an air of surefootedness, and Dimitri stays just out of sight, watching as he settles along the end of the pier, humming softly as he looks over the water, not trying to coax Dimitri closer, just. . _.lingering._

Dimitri does not know what compels him to move closer. When the human’s voice floats along the surface, reaching him from where he stays just underneath the water, it’s calm, a rich timbre that Dimitri doesn’t quite want to admit to enjoying hearing. He’s not foolish enough to think the human doesn’t know he’s there. The human starts humming when Dimitri approaches. 

Still, he keeps himself low, only daring to get close when the human’s attention has strayed to the few clouds overhead. 

Dimitri doesn’t mean to get any closer. The human’s foot drags idly through the water, toes skimming over the surface just above his hand. It’s idle curiosity, nothing more. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until his claws brush his skin. 

_“Shit!_ ” 

The human jolts, which causes Dimitri to startle. His foot jerks up and he leans over the edge of the dock. They’re close enough that even through the water, Dimitri can see the freckles and sunspots smeared across his nose and cheek. His eyes are wide, blinking in bewilderment. 

After a moment, where they just stare at one another, a voice that sounds too much like Dedue for his liking yells at him to _leave_ before the human can do anything. He stays still, though, tail idly flicking in the current, just barely under the water’s surface. 

He blinks, and in the span of that millisecond, the human’s face changes. His lips part in a grin, huffing a laugh as his cheek dimples. “Shit, sorry. You scared me.” 

Dimitri’s lips part. Before he can stop himself, he’s speaking, voice steadier than he anticipated it. “My apologies.” 

The human’s eyes widen again, before his smile falls to something softer, something that makes Dimitri feel warm. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

The statement’s paired with that gentle smile, and the thought of a _human_ looking at him like that fills him with an emotion he can’t identify. It leads to _fear_ , though, and he doesn’t linger to see if the human has any other words for him. He kicks his tail, and dives down so he doesn’t have to hear the human calling after him again. 

He doesn’t mean to go back that evening. 

Every instinct he has tells him it’s bad. There’s no true reason why any human would look at him—wartorn and covered in scars—without anything short of fear. 

But the human had looked at him like any of his friends looked at him. Even _after_ Dimitri had startled him. He curses himself for being foolish, for touching without permission. He tells himself that it’s best if he forgets about the human and puts his focus on the Kingdom. 

_I think you know me, too,_ echoes in his head during the night. He does. He knows he does. That, he reasons, is what draws him back to the shores, though this time, he’s not empty handed. 

The last trip out to the coral reef he had taken with Ashe and Dedue, under the pretense of monitoring the rebuilding efforts, he had found a small shell along the sandy floor. It felt far too delicate in his hands, something that he could crush to dust if he simply closed his palm. He holds it carefully, his hand almost trembling with the force of his restraint as he moves through the water. He checks, carefully, poking his head over the surface of the water to scan the shores. There’s no sign of people—or _him_ —and Dimitri feels comfortable in getting close to the pier that he had headbutted the night before. 

The shell shimmers in the light of the sun, reflections dancing off of it in blinding sparkles. With his other hand, he pulls himself up far enough on the pier that he can leave it in a safe spot. He sets it far enough that even a randomly high wave couldn’t catch it before he dives back down, and retreats.

**.**

“Is merman the correct term?”

Felix glances up from the device in his hands. “What?”

“It is, yeah? Merman, instead of mermaid, for male mer. . _folk_? Merpeople?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

Sylvain’s lounging across Felix’s bed, legs thrown atop his lap. Felix had grumbled, but long since gave up on trying to shove him away, focusing his attention on his video game instead. 

Felix’s bedroom had always been a safe haven, and an itch in Sylvain’s side. While he had gotten tidier as he grew, Felix's room was still a mess. His bed wasn’t made, sheets rumpled at the foot of them. His desk was something out of Sylvain’s nightmares. Textbooks and binders, papers that hadn’t been touched since the semester ended, all scattered atop it. The only part of the room that Sylvain could even call _neat_ was the sword rack against the far wall, a break in the monotonous blue of the walls. Felix had never been one for tacking up posters, instead focusing all of his energy in showing off the ceremonial swords he had collected throughout his life.

As they laze about, the breeze coming in from the open window smells of the sea. Sylvain’s only slightly distracted by it, his attention mostly focused on the research he’s been doing. The noise coming from Felix’s video game drifts into background noise as Sylvain reads about mermaids, sifting through legends and folklores and wild theses based on corpses that had washed up on shore.

“I don’t know what the correct term is to refer to them,” Sylvain says, to answer Felix’s baffled question.

Felix makes a face, before he rolls his eyes and goes back to his game. “Why do you care?”

“Feel like I should be respectful,” Sylvain says, shrugging. “I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”

“Offend a _mermaid_?” Felix asks, scoffing. “What is with you and them?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re not going to jump into the ocean and meet one,” states Felix. 

“No,” Sylvain agrees, readily. “But who knows? There’s this legend that states mermaids can trade their ‘ _gills for lungs, tails for legs_.’ We could be walking amongst mermaids and not even know it.”

Felix looks back at him, eyes narrowed. “We would know.”

Before Sylvain can rebuff that, there’s light knocking on the door, before Glenn sticks his head in, rolling his eyes when he sees how they’re camped out. 

“Shouldn’t you have a job or something, Gautier?” he asks. “Must you pester my brother?”

Felix snorts. “He’s not pestering me—but if he keeps talking about mermaids, I might let you kick him out.”

“Mermaids?” Glenn asks.

“Never mind,” says Sylvain, nudging Felix with his foot and getting lightly smacked in retaliation. “Don’t you have _Hilda’s_ big brother to pester, Glenn?”

Glenn’s eyes narrow in a glare that he knows Felix inherited from him, before he slips back into the hall. 

Sylvain spends most of his day at the Fraldarius house, only parting when Glenn declares he’s taking Felix to dinner since Rodrigue is working late. Sylvain’s given a pointed look by Glenn that tells him he’s uninvited, and it’s not a battle he wishes to fight so he resigns himself to greasy takeout in the jeep before he heads back to the estate. 

It’s not a routine, not yet, but Sylvain has an inkling it’s going to turn into one. He leaves the jeep next to his parents’ cars and walks around the estate. The sun is starting to set, painting the sky with reds and oranges, the sea sparkling beneath the rays. He keeps his eyes out on the water, but he spots something shimmering atop the dock that catches his attention and draws his gaze away from the waves. 

He forces himself to walk at a normal pace, just in case he’s being watched, and when he reaches the dock’s edge, he squats down. 

Sylvain pauses at what he finds. 

There’s a shell, resting atop the wood. It’s too far in to have just randomly been washed atop the wood, and none of the birds have ever left things on the dock like this. He knows it’s been placed there for _him_. His eyes snap up, scanning the water. Sylvain can’t imagine how it must’ve felt if the merman had spent the day waiting for him to arrive. He hadn’t stopped by in the morning, thinking maybe after speaking to him, Sylvain scared him off.

But this shell is definitely not from a human.

Sylvain scoops it up. It’s thin, almost translucent when he holds it up. The sun shimmers through it, showing off the multiple colours hidden within the shell, the pallial line almost a swirl through its center. It’s delicate. He holds it carefully as he rises to his feet, chancing one last glance at the waters. 

He has no idea what it means, receiving a gift from a member of the merfolk. None of the research he had done in the day had told him that there was any specific tradition in it. Still, Sylvain knows what’s common courtesy in humans. He reaches up with his free hand, tugging at the silver around his neck. He has no idea if seawater damages silver—he’ll have to think of something better, later. He slips the chain over his head, shaking his hair out when he manages to pop it over his ears. He leaves it in the same spot where he found the shell, taking a deep breath before heading back to the house.

**.**

“Do humans wear necklaces?” 

The question comes without prompting, an interruption Mercedes obviously wasn’t expecting. Her lips are still parted, but she stops mid-sentence to turn to him. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she just tilts her head. 

“Hm. I’m unsure. I’ve never seen a human up close enough to check.”

Dimitri frowns. He keeps his hand closed, where the chain he had found on the pier that morning when he had gone and checked. 

He has no idea what it could be besides a necklace, but he had never known humans to wear them. He has never paid human attire any _heed_ , though, so he is out of his element. Annette wore necklaces of woven kelp string and shells; he just has no clue if humans do the same. 

“Why do you ask?” Mercedes questions, when he’s been quiet too long.

Dimitri hesitates, glancing around. The corridor of the castle they’re in is empty. He lifts his hand. He hasn’t been subtle about holding it, but she hadn’t asked. When he had gone to ask Mercedes if their pre-meeting lunch was still on, he had found her with Ashe and Caspar, who both had noticed his fist. Ashe hadn’t said anything, not that Dimitri thought he would. Caspar had thought it was his way of implementing a new greeting—taking his own fist to bump against Dimitri’s, for he had heard of humans doing the same on the surface. 

Mercedes tilts her head when he raises it, her eyebrow lifting when he unclenches his fingers. 

“Oh!” She reaches out, claws catching the end of the chain when it drifts up in the water. "May I?"

He lets her take it, and she takes it in hand, bringing it up to peer at it. It's a delicate chain, thinly woven out of what he believes to be silver. Dimitri tries to convince the sudden anxious feeling in his stomach away. Mercedes was the safest person he could go to for this—she wouldn't question just where he found it.

"It's very lovely," she says. "I think it must be a necklace. Or perhaps a band for your wrist? It could work as a bracelet, I think." She hums as her eyes trace over how it floats in the water. "I hope it isn't pure silver, though."

"As do I," he states, softly.

Mercedes smiles and motions for his hand. He proffers it, and she slips the chain around his wrist, looping it a few times. "There we go," she declares. "It looks wonderful on you!"

He huffs a small, disbelieving breath, but thanks her anyway.

“If it _is_ pure silver, it’ll still have a long enough life before it tarnishes down here,” she says, still smiling. “Come now, our lunch should be ready.” 

His lunch with Mercedes goes smoothly for the first part of it. They dine together in one of the smaller rooms in the castle, until Dedue slips through the archway, already apologizing for the interruption. 

“Lady Petra has sent a vanguard ahead of her,” Dedue says. “She’ll be arriving tomorrow afternoon for the delegation meeting between our territory and Brigid’s waters.”

Dimitri tries to school his face before he can show his displeasure at that news. He _is_ excited to see Petra again. Her forces from Brigid had been key allies in the war with Edelgard, alongside Caspar, and some of the others that had defected to the Kingdom from Adrestia. He just wished that she was visiting for pleasantries, instead of for more post-war meetings. 

Mercedes must notice his mood grows slightly dour. She reassures him that while she’s here, Petra _will_ have time for catching up outside of politics, but it doesn’t do much to help his mood brighten. She brushes off his apologies, pressing a light kiss to his cheek when they part. 

His mind is still racing as he moves down the corridors, trying to think over what he’ll need to have prepared for Petra’s arrival. They will most certainly not have any lengthy discussions until the day after she’s gotten to the Kingdom, but he can already feel his head aching from trying to piece together what needs to be done.

The Kingdom deserves better. That much Dimitri knows. He has barely been crowned King for a year and knows that things are not progressing as quickly as they should be. He does not think he is a failure—there were too many battles won, too much staked in him clawing his way out of the depths he had put himself in to consider himself as such. He _does_ think, knows, that he is not the most fit to be ruling. He _tries_ , but oftentimes it feels like it’s not enough.

Claude catches him unaware, as lost in his thoughts as he is. Dimitri startles when his voice reaches him, his shoulders tensing in surprise as one of his most trusted friends rolls through the water, tail rippling behind him.

“Your Kingliness!” 

He does not have it in him to force a smile on his face, despite how Claude is smiling at him. He just nods, greeting him modestly. “Good afternoon, Claude.”

Claude looks ready to say something, but his expression changes, eyes sharpening as they flick over his face. Dimitri hates it whenever he gets like that—like every single thought he’s ever had is written across his face. 

He turns his gaze away, clearing his throat, but Claude speaks before he can.

“You seem distracted, Dimitri. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he states.

Claude doesn’t seem to believe him. He moves, blocking his path before Dimitri can swim out of this conversation. They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, Dimitri feeling his lips turn down into a frown. 

“Your Majesty,” Claude drawls. “It won’t do anyone any good if you lie to me.”

Dimitri’s frown deepens. He’s far too aware of that. “I have been thinking about things I could not implement,” he admits, after a moment’s silence between them. 

Claude’s eyes narrow in thought. “What’re you thinking?” 

“About how I am more monster than not,” he states, and he spots Claude’s mouth opening to protest, so he barrels on with, “and how I do not believe one person should be in charge of an entire kingdom.” 

Claude’s jaw clicks shut at the follow up. His head tilts. “What?”

“Being a king, having this much power that anything I say can be law—it is not fair. It is not just.” 

A hum, as Claude swirls in the water around him. “So, what would you rather have?” 

_My council be the voices of the people_ , he thinks. _Allowing them a chance to own their rights_. He has no idea how Claude will take that, though. Instead, he squares his shoulders. “They deserve better, Claude. I do not have any definite ideas, nor ways to go about it, but the people deserve better.” 

“You’re the best person to be King, Dimitri,” Claude says, his hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. “You’re the best _because_ you think like that.” 

He frowns, but Claude just smiles. “C’mon. Let’s go get everything ready for Lady Petra, hm?” 

After another moment, Dimitri nods. “All right.” 

“Aw, that doesn’t even earn me a smile? What do I have to do to get you to grin?” 

Affectionate exasperation rushes through him at the slight whine in Claude’s tone, the petulant way he puffs his cheeks out in a pout befitting Annette instead of him. He shakes his head, looking away, but Claude spots the tiny curl of his lips and grins. 

“ _There_ it is! Alright, now we can go.”

**.**

“Hilda told me silver can get damaged by seawater,” Sylvain states, not that Felix asked. His voice floats down the empty aisle, loud in the quiet of the morning, the music playing overhead barely audible in the store they’re in. “So, I was thinking of getting something different.”

Felix frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. It’s early—Sylvain had traded going with him on another run for Felix to come with him immediately after so he could buy some things before they picked up Hilda and Marianne for their beach day. He’s got a few weaving how-to’s on his phone, ready to go when they reach the beach. The rows of waxed cord are lined up in a rainbow, several different shades of every colour Sylvain could think of shimmering under the fluorescents of the shop. Sylvain thinks they may very well be the only customers inside as early as it is, but he doesn’t let it bother him as much as Felix is getting annoyed at it, his eyes darting back and forth to the ends of the aisle like a cat looking for escape routes.

“You don’t wear that much jewelry—just that necklace of yours.” A pause. He sees Felix lean on his toes. “Wait, are you not wearing it? I thought you never took that thing off.”

He shrugs. “It was just a simple chain. Nothing like what Hilda makes.”

Felix’s eyes narrow at him. “‘ _Was_?’”

Sylvain hums, selecting a spool of teal before moving down to the deeper blues. Felix follows the two steps, arms still crossed over his chest, scowl still on his face.

“I. . .lost it,” Sylvain says. The lie doesn’t land, but he barrels on before Felix can call him out on it, “I was thinking I might like something _I_ made. Y’know. Waterproof.”

“Waterproof,” Felix echoes. 

Sylvain nods, finding a deep, brilliant blue that he _thinks_ may very well match some scales. He collects a spool of it, moving further down to the silvers and whites. Sylvain’s always enjoyed art, and those that could create it. Hilda was a master crafter, able to make even the most intricate jewelry. Twined ropes of waxed threads would have nothing on her, but Sylvain figures it’ll be a nice hobby to get into. 

Sylvain grabs a few more spools, glancing down at Felix when he’s gone quiet. Felix’s brow is furrowed, his eyes on the tiles, an expression Sylvain’s known the meaning of since he was six. 

“You want to ask something?” he offers. 

Felix’s gaze flicks up to meet his gaze before he drops it back to the ground. “Are you. . .planning to go swimming today?” 

The question startles him. He realizes all at once that it would be the obvious answer to Sylvain’s planning. He had always taken to wearing swim trunks to the beach, though he has never stepped foot in the ocean, nor have any of his friends ever asked. But with his behaviour as it was, he can easily follow the trail Felix’s mind has taken. He huffs a small breath, and it brings him Felix’s wrath in the form of a fierce glare.

“Why is that funny?”

“It’s not,” he says, lifting his hands, still full of the spools. “I’m absolutely not going into the ocean today, though. I just wanted something to do with my hands. When I went to the diner last night, Dorothea was telling me about all these friendship bracelets she made when she was younger, and I don’t have anything new to read.”

“Oh.” Felix’s posture relaxes, just barely. He drops his arms to his side. “Ingrid and I were thinking of taking some refresher swim courses at the community college before summer ends.”

Sylvain smiles at that. It's not the first time they've taken refresher courses, and it will definitely not be the last. Felix and Ingrid had been convincing him to go to them as soon as Sylvain felt comfortable with the idea of swimming, back when Glenn was still driving them everywhere. He knows they still think he’s fooled by the true meaning behind taking the classes, but he’s more than happy to let them believe they’re stealthy. 

“Yeah? Want me to tag along?”

Felix shrugs in a way that’s _too_ casual. “You might as well.”

“Just let me know when and where.” He winks. “I’m always ready to help out.”

Felix nods, ignoring the wink. “Is that all you were getting? Don’t friendship bracelets need. . .beads?” His nose wrinkles at the end of his question, making Sylvain laugh.

“I don’t know. Do you want one with beads?”

“I don’t want one,” Felix states. His eyes drop to the colours Sylvain’s collected. “None of those colours, anyway. And Ingrid likes green more than teal and blue, you know that.” 

They spend a few more minutes playfully bickering, and Sylvain ends up with over a baker’s dozen of coloured spools, an array of colours that match all of his friends’ favourites all ending up in the small bag he carries out to the car.

The drive to Hilda’s is easy. Felix sits in the front seat, already reapplying sunscreen he had put on before they had even finished their run. Hilda spots the bag of threads, excitement already filling her tone as she goes over the best ways Sylvain could go about making bracelets. 

Ingrid meets them at the beach, already staking a claim at a spot high above the tideline. They spread out towels, set up the umbrella, and then Sylvain is left to his own devices guarding their bags while he fumbles through the first two bracelets. 

Dorothea joins them during their lunch break, where everyone’s settled on the towels with the food they brought spread out, with Hilda hastily reapplying sunscreen to Ingrid’s pink shoulders. Tagging along behind her is a face Sylvain vaguely recognizes from a shared lecture during the last semester, but Dorothea introduces him as _Ferdie_. 

By the time the others are ready to head home, Sylvain has successfully made seven bracelets. One he keeps aside, but the others all accept the ones he hands out—even Felix, who was begrudging at best about taking his, but he slipped it into his pocket with a mildly put out, _Thanks_.

Sylvain makes sure the others get home, dropping Hilda and Marianne off before heading to Felix’s to drop him off. Ingrid lets him know while he’s watching Felix unlock the front door that she’s home, and Dorothea just sends him a thumbs up when he asks. He heads home feeling sun-warmed and content. His mood lifts even more when he spots the empty sight where his father’s car should be. 

He’ll have a relaxing night, if his father’s away again.

The peace at seeing the sun setting makes him exhale a deep breath as he heads down to the piers. The bracelet he has in his hand is woven of the white and bright blue threads he had picked up, one of the better ones that he had made. He had fumbled through the first few before Hilda had joined him under the shade for a bit to show him how to make a slip knot. 

He plays with the tie as he walks across the pier, leaving his shoes behind. He sits down at the end of the dock with his legs crossed, the setting sun’s rays glimmering across the water. His eyes scan across the surface, trying to spot any difference in the white-foamed swells. After a moment, he tilts his head, considering, before setting the bracelet aside. His hands grip the end of the dock and he leans over—

—to come face to face with the merman, floating just underneath where he’s sitting.

“Oh!” 

The merman makes a noise, eye widening. Before he has a chance to flee, Sylvain keeps one hand gripping the edge so he doesn’t fall face first into the water, and scoops up the bracelet.

“I have a present for you!” 

He dangles the bracelet over the water, watching the merman’s face go from a dusty pink to a dark, bright red blush. Sylvain smiles, and the merman dips under the water. Sylvain watches, sitting back up as he rolls himself, tail just cresting the surface before his head pops back up. 

“I have—. I have one for you, as well.” 

The merman’s voice is deep, the cadence lilting. He lifts one of his hands, clawed fingers opening to reveal a large oval-shaped piece of sea glass. Sylvain beams, reaching down. The merman proffers his hand higher, and Sylvain spots his necklace, wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. He laughs, softly, plucking the glass out and replacing it with the waxed cord. The piece is smooth, a vivid green. He rolls it over in his hand, thumb brushing over the surface. He watches as the merman runs his fingers over the bracelet, a small furrow to his brow as he pulls at the knot to loosen it before it retightens with another tug. 

“Y’know, I never got a chance to thank you the first time.”

He startles, glancing up, his blue eye widening. “Oh, the shell was nothing—”

“Not the shell,” he interrupts, keeping his voice gentle. “You know that.”

“Ah. . .” Colour forms high on his cheekbones as he wrenches his eye away from Sylvain’s gaze. “I did not think you would remember.” 

“How could I not?” Sylvain asks. He leans over, almost pushing himself into his space as he floats in the water. “I never got to give you my name the first time, either. I’m Sylvain.” 

He watches as that blue eye darts over, flicking over him before dropping to the bracelet on his palm. Sylvain sets the glass aside to reach down, taking the bracelet and loosening the knot to slip it over his wrist. His fingers brush across the blue claws of his fingers as he fits it over his hand. There’s silence between them, before the merman finally breaks it when Sylvain’s tightened the bracelet.

“My name is Dimitri.”

“Dimitri,” he repeats, unable to fight his smile. “It’s nice to properly meet you.”

**.**

Dimitri is _brimming_ with excited nerves all day, attention straying as soon as anyone tries to gather it. Thankfully, Petra is more inclined to talk with Claude than with him, but it’s not easy trying to focus during meetings. His thoughts keep going back to Sylvain, the bracelets around his wrist, and the promise they had made to meet again at sunset, so they might talk. 

When he slips out of the city proper, the sun is just starting to send red and orange waves down from the surface. Sylvain is already waiting at the pier when he arrives, sitting with his legs crossed so they don’t hang over the edge. 

Dimitri can understand his hesitance of allowing himself to be vulnerable above the ocean, but it isn’t the best place for him to hold languid conversations, lest he keep pulling himself onto the pier. 

“Do you know the cove, just to the north of here?” Dimitri asks. “The shore is deeper than it is here, but I could go on the sands easier. If you want to swim there, I can stay with you.” 

Sylvain hums, eyes squinting to the north. “How ‘bout I meet you there at the shore? I’d—ah. I’d rather walk.”

Dimitri nods, and dips back into the water. Sylvain takes a bit longer than it takes him to swim there, but he arrives with a smile on his face and a bag tossed over his shoulder. He settles in the damp sand next to Dimitri, and it’s astonishing to him how similar they truly are when they are stretched out next to one another. Dimitri doesn’t think his tail is any longer than Sylvain’s legs, and Sylvain’s shoulders are broad, the sleeve of his shirt tightening against his biceps when he crosses his arms loosely atop his bent knees.

Every time the ocean touches his feet, Sylvain’s entire body tenses. He tries to brush it off, with easy smiles and laughs as they talk, but Dimitri notices it anyway. Sylvain tells him about the surface, seeming excited whenever Dimitri asks him to explain a human concept to him. He seems to enjoy talking, which is for the best, since Dimitri always prefers listening. Sylvain tells him about his friends, and how his family owns the beach with the piers they normally meet up at. 

“When I was a kid, we had a ton of boats out there, but my dad moved them to the harbour after the—. Well. You know.” 

Dimitri hums, til idly splashing in the waves that touch at the shores. “I can see why he would, if he wished to protect you.”

The scoffed laugh that Sylvain gives at that surprises him, and seems to startle Sylvain, but he continues laughing, a hand covering his mouth. 

_“Fuck_ ,” he manages, through his laughter. “He definitely didn’t do it to protect me.”

“No?” 

Sylvain shakes his head, eyes still warm despite the tightness pulling his smile. “Definitely not. I’m sure your dad would’ve, if you were the one with feet, but mine’s not the type.”

“Oh.” Dimitri frowns, looking towards the ocean. “I am unsure how my father would react. He would try to protect me, I’m certain.”

“It’s an odd circumstance to think about,” Sylvain says. “Can’t imagine how I’d feel with a tail.” 

Dimitri smiles at that, glancing back to him. “Legs do seem like they make transportation easier.”

Sylvain grins, spreading his toes in the sands. “I’ve got to admit, it’s nice to have them. I read that merfolk can transform to have legs, though—is that not true?” 

“They can,” Dimitri says. “It is not an. . . _easy_ transformation. I have never done it myself, but my—my _sister_ continuously changed to have legs in our youth. It is not dangerous if used in moderation—or if you only do it once, I suppose, and don’t return to the water.” He smooths a hand down his scales. “I believe the only one of my friends to actually try it is my friend Claude. He disappeared shortly after the war for a bit because of it.”

“Oh, I knew a Claude for a semester in college—.” He stops short, brows furrowing, before his head whips over. “Wait, hold on. _War_?” 

Dimitri blinks. “Oh. Yes, I suppose the humans would not know about it.” 

Sylvain’s eyes, still wide, track over his body. Dimitri shifts, trying to resist the urge he has to cover himself. The scars he has are plentiful, and they are decidedly not the prettiest. Annette and Mercedes have often tried to reassure him that they are proof he is capable of _surviving_ , and do not deter from his appearance, but Dimitri knows even before he had gone through the war, he was not the handsomest.

He does his best not to appear self-conscious about them, distracting Sylvain from looking at him to tell him about the war. It was not an _easy_ win, for the Kingdom. It took years. Edelgard’s multiple trips to the surface were a way to gain knowledge and weaponry that left them unprepared for a lot of her attacks. Her hubris had ended up being her downfall, though, even after she had enlisted human boaters to help her attacks.

He’s not entirely sure what compels him to tell Sylvain all of this. The moon is high overhead by the time they’re discussing the coronation, and Sylvain’s eyes are bright in the darkness when he discovers that.

“So, you’re a king?”

“I am in charge of the Kingdom, crowned king, yes.”

“That’s so hot.”

Dimitri feels himself startle, heat bursting across his face. _“Wh_ —?” 

Sylvain’s grinning, cheeks dimpled. “I’m just saying, I’ve never met a king in real life before.”

_That_ devolves the conversation into Sylvain telling Dimitri about human politics, which lasts only five minutes, for his head starts to spin with the explanations. Sylvain, with a casual awareness of the fact, switches topics in a matter of a breath, telling Dimitri about what he is studying in _college_ , which he also has to explain. Studying business is still a concept Dimitri needs time to understand, especially when Sylvain assures him he is not apprenticing for anyone.

They talk until Dimitri knows it’s far too late, and Dedue will send a search party out if he doesn’t return soon. Sylvain stretches his arms over his head, shivering when the ocean waters hit his ankles.

“Yeah, I should probably get some sleep, too.”

Dimitri bids him a good night, slinking just far enough into the water that he’s completely submerged again. His hair’s dried, and he dunks under the water to rewet it, shaking it out when he surfaces. Sylvain grins at him, collecting his things. 

“I think this is probably a nicer place than the docks, yeah? We should meet here tomorrow.”

Dimitri’s stomach flops with nervous excitement at that. He stammers out an agreement that has Sylvain laughing, not unkindly, the sound warm in the night. Sylvain winks at him.

“Get home safe, Dimitri.” 

He slips back into the water, going just far enough that Sylvain can’t immediately spot him when he looks back at the ocean on his trek up. When his eyes land on him, Dimitri quickly dips down, and he can hear Sylvain’s bright laugh carry over the water. Dimitri crests the water, keeping his eye on Sylvain. He waits, watching until he completely disappears into the night, before he dives back down and heads home.

**.**

Sylvain has no idea how his _normal_ routine turns into what could possibly be called dates with a merman, but two and a half weeks into it, he’s gotten used to it. Even the ocean touching his legs doesn’t set his heart thrumming anymore, though he’s certain if he wasn’t sitting at the tideline and was knee deep in the water, he’d feel the exact opposite. 

He still spends most of his days out of the house, only lingering whenever his mother is _desperate_ for someone else to talk to instead of the staff, but that’s only been twice in the past couple weeks. He had spent most of that day with Hilda and her older brother, helping Holst move things around, and—admittedly—telling Felix all about it so Sylvain could incur Glenn’s wrath later on. 

Holst had, not for the first time, told Sylvain how easily he would hire him if Sylvain wanted a job. Hilda had protested, only because she thought Sylvain working for Holst would make things _weird_. Sylvain had laughed it off, like he always did, because he knew his father would do worse than disown him if he went to work for Holst Goneril before his final year in college. 

He brings the waxed cord he had bought with him when he goes to visit with Dimitri. The bracelet he had given him has stayed on his wrist, but Sylvain’s been practicing, and Dimitri watches, enraptured, as Sylvain weaves him another one. 

It’s only when Dimitri’s brushed the hair out of his eye for the fourth time that evening that Sylvain gets the idea. Dimitri’s hesitant, but he settles deeper in the water so Sylvain can kneel behind him, finger combing the salt-tangled waves of his hair until they fall in a silken waterfall of gold down his neck. 

Sylvain’s braided hair before—Hilda and Marianne both had long enough hair that he had been practicing for years on them. It was one of the easiest ways to calm Hilda down after she drank too much and ended up kneeling over a toilet. He’s tempted to braid Dimitri’s back, but he just settles with gathering half of it up, making a small tail at the back of his head and tying it with some of the teal cord. 

“There!” Sylvain moves to sit in front of him, watching as Dimitri blinks and his clawed fingers run over his hair, delicately touching the ends. “You look great!” 

Dimitri frowns, slightly, peering over the water. His reflection shudders with the movements of the waves, and Sylvain clicks his tongue.

“Hold on, I’ve got something better.”

Higher up on the beach, out of reach of the tide, rests his bag. Sylvain rummages until he finds his phone and brings it with him. Dimitri stares at it in mild suspicion.

“What is that?” 

Sylvain quirks a brow. “It’s a phone.”

“A. . .phone?” 

He shakes his head. “Here, just smile.”

Dimitri doesn’t, which makes Sylvain roll his eyes affectionately. The pout on his lips isn’t very befitting for a six-foot-something-sharkman, who is a _king_ , but it _is_ adorable. He snaps a picture of it, the sun reflecting off of Dimitri’s hair and giving him a halo of golden-orange light. He hums in appreciation at it before he turns to proffer the phone to Dimitri, who frowns at it.

“See? You look good.”

“I—hm.” Dimitri peers down at his phone, frown deepening. 

Sylvain grins. “What? You don’t like the picture?” 

“Is that what it’s called?” he questions. “It’s. . .unsettling.” 

“Unsettling? Oh, but you look so good in it!” 

Dimitri’s cheeks darken with that blush Sylvain loves, the one that crawls down his neck, and contrasts sharply with the blue fins that frame his face in place of human ears. Sylvain hums before Dimitri gets a chance to articulate his denial.

“You do! You’re _very_ handsome, Dimitri.”

Dimitri makes a scoffed noise, looking away, still clearly embarrassed. “I think you are far more handsome than I am.”

Sylvain almost drops his phone at the casual decree. Dimitri’s voice is so _sincere_ it makes his brain short-circuit for a moment, and he fumbles when he almost sends his phone into the water. He manages to bat it into the damp sand instead, which is only slightly better. His face feels like it’s warmed from more than the sun, and he clears his throat as he tries to brush the sand off.

“You—.” He shakes his head, feeling his brow pinch. He chances a glance up, to see Dimitri’s head tilted, eye on his face. “You think I’m handsome?” 

Dimitri blinks, clearly startled by the question. “Yes,” he says, enthusiastic as he pushes himself closer, into Sylvain’s space. He’s almost in his _lap_ and Sylvain’s thoughts all spiral rapidly before he can douse any of them. 

“You are very handsome, Sylvain.”

“I—.” He stops, tilts his chin so he can look away without retreating out of Dimitri’s space. “If you think I’m handsome, then you have to know how good you look.”

Dimitri’s mouth opens, but Sylvain moves before he’s quite sure he’s doing it. He rests his finger against Dimitri’s lips, silencing him. He smiles as Dimitri’s eye tries to look down at his mouth. He’s hyper aware of Dimitri’s teeth, just hidden behind his lips, capable of rendering the flesh from his bones, but he trusts Dimitri fully, knows his lips will stay closed.

“Let’s not argue about this. We’re _both_ good looking, alright?” He adds a wink for good measure, which has Dimitri spluttering, and pulling back slightly. “Anyway, how’s—what did you say her name was?—Petra?” 

“Ah.” Dimitri settles back in the sand. “She is well. She and her delegation will be leaving at the end of the week. It has been. . .good. We have made excellent progress.”

“Progress?” 

Dimitri nods, lifting a hand. One of his claws brushes over the tied up part of his hair. “There is still much we need to do to recover from the war—treaties that need to be remade and delegations to smooth over.” The hand he had lifted waves nonchalantly above the water. “Standard nation-rebuilding things, you know.” 

Sylvain doesn’t— _wouldn’t_ —but he studied enough history in school to understand. He nods along as Dimitri talks. It seems to lift some of the weight on his shoulders, whenever he discusses things with Sylvain, who is completely objective. Sylvain doesn’t mind lending his ear, letting Dimitri talk through what he needs to. 

He has no idea what it’s like in Dimitri’s kingdom under the sea, only the brief stories he’s heard from him, but more times than not, it seems like Dimitri hates the political side of things he has to deal with. He cares—probably far too much—but Sylvain would never voice that to him. That caring side of him is most likely what’s keeping the Kingdom on the path of proper restoration. 

They spend another few hours at the shore, Sylvain resting in the warm sand that rapidly turns chilled when the sun dips down beyond the horizon. He breaks out his snacks, letting Dimitri try some, though he only comments on textures instead of taste. Dimitri keeps his hair tied up when he’s ready to depart and Sylvain can’t help but run his fingers through the strands that still fall into his face. 

It takes all of his self restraint to not follow the touch with a kiss when Dimitri blushes. He draws back, clearing his throat. 

“Tomorrow, then?” 

Dimitri nods, smiling. “Tomorrow.”

Sylvain heads back to the estate, glancing over his shoulder once to see Dimitri still bobbing in the waves, waiting until he’s out of sight before leaving. He smiles, looking back to his phone. He pulls up the picture of Dimitri. If he crops the bottom fourth out of it, the only tell that Dimitri’s not human are the fins at the side of his head. He debates for a moment before setting it as his background image. He has his doubts any of his friends were going to look that hard at his picture choice to spot that.

He smiles at the sight of Dimitri’s tiny pout, his eye still brilliant in the picture, before he slips the device into his pocket and continues his walk home in the night.

**.**

They’ve been meeting at the cove for weeks now, instead of the pier. There are times when Sylvain is late, arriving just before the sun’s started to dip beyond the horizon, but he’s always shown up, unless he’s explicitly said he’s had plans the day before. 

Because of that, when the sun starts to set, and Dimitri is still by himself, he tries to keep himself from worrying. It is not the easiest—Dimitri feels like he worries over everything, constantly, but he tries. 

When the sun has set, and Sylvain has still not arrived, he wracks his brain as he slips from the cove, going to the piers. He knows they had agreed to meet, he knows Sylvain _should_ be at the cove, but he thinks maybe there had been some sort of miscommunication. He thinks Sylvain might be at the docks instead. 

They are as empty as they always have been when he reaches them, the wood rapidly cooling under his hand when he presses down on it. 

He can feel the anxiety clawing its way up his throat, the pressure against his chest threatening to drag him into a full blown panic. He slips under the water’s surface, pushing his hands through his hair. It takes him a few moments to calm his breathing, trying to think things through that weren’t him immediately going to the worst possible scenario.

Sylvain always talked about how his own friends liked to do last minute things. Perhaps this was just another one of those. He finds a shell to leave on the pier for him, knowing he cannot spend all night waiting for him to appear, lest he wishes Dedue arriving to seek him out. He has full faith that Sylvain will collect it, and perhaps even leave him something. The thought fills him with delight, overriding his panic. 

Sylvain will undoubtedly apologize the next evening, telling tales of human adventures Dimitri would never dream of understanding. He feels warm at the thought of seeing his grin, the dimple in his freckle smattered cheeks, and the way he couldn’t seem to be able to speak without gesturing with his arms. 

With his worry receding, Dimitri takes one last look at the sandy shore before he departs.

**.**

Sylvain had known this was inevitable. 

He drives down the road, the sun still shining brightly overhead, oblivious to Sylvain’s struggle to hold back tears of frustration. He shouldn’t be crying over this. He’s known it was coming. It was inevitable. His father doesn’t _deserve_ an emotional reaction. 

Sylvain’s supposed to start his final year of college in the fall. He’s supposed to graduate with a degree in business economics, even though his heart has always lied elsewhere. He’s done his best to be the _good son_ , even if his parents had never deserved it. 

That had all gone to shit the moment his father had returned home. 

Arguments weren’t unusual in their household. He’s seen the difference between the spats his friends have with their parents, and knows that his house is an outlier, but he’s known that since he was thirteen and Miklan was officially disowned. Normal families, _supportive_ families, don’t function like the Gautier family does. Sylvain’s grown used to it, though. He’s had years of learning to diffuse situations before they got too bad, to _yes, sir, sorry, sir_ his way out of the worst of it. 

Today, though, he had snapped.

He’s still not one hundred percent sure what he said in the midst of it, when his adrenaline was high, his blood pounding in his ears. He had stormed upstairs, threw as many clothes as possible into his bag, grabbed the tiny bag of waxed cords and Dimitri’s gifts he’s kept hidden from his parents, and stormed out. 

His mother hadn’t even tried to stop him, cowed away as soon as Sylvain had decided to yell back.

It’s not how he usually acts. Sylvain knows this. He’s followed the path his father had laid out at his feet the day he was born, knowing it was the most stable path to take to guarantee he would be able to help his friends whenever they needed it. The path had made him learn early on how best to organize and plan things out, but none of today had been planned.

He finds himself still struggling against holding his tears back when he climbs the steps to the porch of the Fraldarius house. Rodrigue’s away again, based on the lack of his car, but he knows Glenn and Felix will be home. 

The dam manages to hold as he rings the bell. He pushes his hand through his hair, blinking rapidly to stave the tears off, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waits. When Glenn swings the door open, he looks unimpressed, until Sylvain manages to meet his gaze, tears blurring his vision. He spots Glenn’s eyes widen, drop to the bag on his shoulder, and he turns to shout into the house for Felix, a hand grabbing Sylvain’s arm and tugging him inside. 

The dam bursts when he’s pulled inside. He manages to explain in choppy sentences through his tears what happened as he struggles to get his shoes off. Felix nods, listening intently as Sylvain tells him about the fight, about all but disowning himself by storming out of the house.

They end up in Felix’s room, sitting on the worn rug beneath his bed, Sylvain trying to explain, but when Felix hands him a pillow, his words mangle on his tongue.

He cries into Felix's pillow, hugging it to his chest, trying to hide as Felix's hand awkwardly pats at his shoulder. The effort of comfort is welcomed, and if he wasn't busy feeling as if his entire soul had been ripped out of his chest, he might have laughed at the way Felix mutters curses to himself about not being better at it. Hell, if he wasn’t busy crying, he’d probably feel a lot more embarrassed about the situation at hand, but his mind doesn’t let him get to that point. 

He cries, and _cries_ , and laments about Dimitri, prays he did not waste his time waiting for Sylvain, because Sylvain isn't worth the effort. Felix doesn't know who Dimitri is, asks him why he's hung up on one of his flings when there are obviously more important things going on, and Sylvain cannot give him an answer more than a hiccuped sob.

Glenn comes, after. Sylvain thinks he might have been waiting outside the bedroom door, waiting for his tears to subside before creaking the door open. He has a bottle of his father's finest bourbon in one hand, his cell phone in the other. He sits on the ground with them, taking the cap off the bottle. He doesn't offer it to Sylvain yet, holds it to his chest, brow furrowed.

"You need new clothes, then?"

Sylvain, throat raw, eyes puffy, shrugs. "I have some in my bag," he offers, voice thick. He coughs to try to clear his throat, the noise rough and wet, making all three of them wince. 

Felix mutters something unintelligible under his breath, rising to his feet. He brushes out the room, and Glenn follows him with his gaze. They don't speak until he's back, balancing three glasses of water in his hands.

"Drink this," he orders, "then talk."

Sylvain drains the glass in one go, wiping the trail that slips down his chin with the back of his palm. "I have some clothes," he manages, sounding only a fraction better. "Not enough."

Glenn nods, obviously having expected this. "We're going shopping tomorrow morning—don't you _dare_ argue with me, Gautier." 

He waits until Sylvain's clicked his jaw shut before handing over the bourbon. Sylvain takes a sip, lets it burn down his raw throat. He sets it down between them, unsurprised that Glenn reaches for the next swig. When he's passed the bottle to Felix, Glenn clears his throat, looking away from both of them.

"Holst says you start tomorrow at noon."

Sylvain blinks. "What?"

"If you need more time than that, he says the day after is fine."

Sylvain continues blinking. " _What_?"

Glenn rolls his eyes, ignoring the soft, spluttering cough Felix gives at his sip of drink, accepting the bottle back from him as Felix hastily goes for one of the other glasses still full of water. “You can crash here until our dad gets back, but I don’t think you’ll want him hovering over you like you’re a baby bird he found in the yard.”

“I don—.” _Understand_ , he almost says, but he stops short. “Holst _hired_ me?” 

Glenn smirks around the lip of the bottle, taking another long drink of it. “Ye _p_.”

“Fuck,” he manages. His throat still feels raw and he refuses the bottle when Glenn tips it to him, instead going for the other glass of water. “ _Fuck_.” 

“The building Marianne’s father owns has an open apartment, too. Holst said he’d talk to Edmund to see if you can move in.”

Sylvain feels like he should be far more embarrassed about Glenn having a phone call about his current predicament while he’s spent half an hour sobbing on the floor of his little brother’s room. He can’t manage to feel anything other than a half-surprising solace at the fact that everyone seems to have been prepared for this to happen for months. His chest swells with a breath as he thinks about how it’s so obvious that the others care for him, and he’s far too used to being the one _they_ rely on that it makes him feel warm in a way that’s not entirely unwelcome.

Glenn hums at the look on Sylvain’s face. “I’ll go tell him you need another day.”

As soon as the door’s shut, Felix pries the pillow out of Sylvain’s lap, tugging the case off of it with a carefully neutral expression. He gives Sylvain a moment to scrub his hands over his face, push them through his tangled hair, before he manages to speak, avoiding eye contact as he pulls a new case over his pillow.

“Who’s Dimitri?” 

Sylvain freezes, fingers halfway through his hair. He can’t deny what Felix is talking about—he’s always been a shit liar with his friends, and he did just spend at least half an hour sobbing into Felix’s pillow. He doesn’t say anything, slowly lowering his hands to his lap.

“Is he the one you’ve been seeing?” 

He glances over. Felix frowns when he does, looking away. 

“You haven’t been bragging about your flings, recently. Thought it was weird, but. . .” He shrugs, trailing off.

“I—.” He stops, thinking it over. “I like him, yeah. Maybe more than I probably should, but we haven’t—. I mean, it’s—it’s complicated.”

Felix’s frown deepens. “Complicated,” he echoes, unimpressed. “How so?” 

He opens his mouth, the words all ready. _Well, he’s a merman, who is also a king, who I was supposed to meet at a cove at my family’s estate, all before I disowned myself from my family and drove here to cry into your pillow._

He doesn’t say anything. He makes a noise, instead, one he’s certain he’s never made before in his life. It makes Felix give him a look.  
“I’m calling Ingrid.”

“ _No_ ,” Sylvain says, so quickly his voice catches in his throat and comes out hoarse. He tries again. “No. No, she doesn’t need to know, Felix, you know she’s going to worry about this.”

“Oh, right,” Felix drawls. “Like it’s not worrying that you left your family with nothing more than a backpack full of clothes.”

“This was kind of a spur of the moment thing.”

Felix rolls his eyes, scoffing. “Obviously. You’re normally meticulous when it comes to planning. So, what? Do you need my phone to call this Dimitri guy?”

Sylvain blinks, glancing towards his bag. His phone’s still in there, but he doubts it’ll be useable now that he’s all but told his father to fuck off. He’ll have to get a new number, probably have to get a new phone. 

He drops his face in his hands, groaning. Most of his impulsive choices were small, inconsequential things. This is completely different. Nothing he had ever done had had the consequences that resulted in him sobbing on Felix’s bedroom floor, completely unrooted from the routine he’s cultivated over the past few weeks. So many things he had taken for granted were now things he would need to start from scratch with.

He wants to see Dimitri so badly it _hurts_ , but he considers it might be for the best, now that this has happened. Sylvain could offer him nothing that the king of an underwater realm could possibly desire before, and now he could offer even less. There were no spells that could turn a human into one of them, no magic or procedure. 

Sylvain wasn’t worth his affection. Maybe a break like this would be best, even if the thought of it makes his heart feel like it’s shattered into tiny shards.

**.**

His day has not been the best. They have made excellent progress with Petra and Brigid, but the arguments amongst the nobility of the Kingdom for the progress had meant Dimitri spends most of his morning and afternoon dealing with negotiations and disagreements. He has a migraine by the time they’re done for the day, and he leaves Petra in the hands of Mercedes and Annette, retreating to the place of solace he has. 

Dimitri’s looking forward to hearing whatever tale Sylvain has, that had caused him to not be able to make their usual meeting. He knows some of his friends’ names, wonders if Felix’s elder brother had done something to delay him. The stories Sylvain has told have had no shorts of sabotage from the older brother of his closest friend, and Dimitri spends the swim to the shore trying to think over whatever wild and confusing human things Sylvain could mention.

The sun is still high enough that Sylvain is not late when Dimitri reaches the cove. He spends his time in the shallows, letting the sunbeams warm him from above the water’s surface, floating idly on the swells. 

When the sun starts to set, and Sylvain has not arrived, just like the day before, he decides to go check the piers. If Sylvain has left him a trinket, perhaps another one of the woven bracelets he has favoured making during their visits, it may hold an explanation of sorts of what’s happened. 

It’s only when he reaches the dock that his panic allows itself to summit. 

The shell still rests atop it, salt bleached and sun warmed. Dimitri’s fingers close around it, feeling the sun’s warmth quickly getting overwhelmed by his damp skin. 

He feels like he can’t breathe. 

Quickly submerging does nothing to help his jumping pulse, his shortness of breath. He doesn’t mean to, but when he closes his claws, the shell shatters in his palm. He watches the pieces float gently, twirling in the movement of the water on their way to the sands below. 

He does not know how he gets from the shore, back to the castle. His expression must be something out of the darkest depths of him, for everyone he passes hastily makes way for him on the path he’s taking. His mind is racing, trying to think things through to make what he’s planning go easier than it would if he acted on this impulsive urge. 

It’s only when he almost barrels through Claude that he takes a moment to breathe. Claude stays with him, calming him as he tries to explain in hurried words that something has happened and he needs to leave.

“Dimtri, just breathe,” he says. “What’s happened? What’s gone wrong?” 

Dimitri takes a moment, steadying himself. If they weren’t in an empty corridor of the castle, he might have been ashamed of his behaviour. He can’t feel anything but dread, though, still coiling in his stomach.

“I need to leave,” he repeats.

Claude shakes his head. “Leave to where?” he asks. “What’s _happened?_ ”

He inhales, letting the breath calm him down, exhaling slowly. When he speaks, his voice is calm. “Do you remember what I told you, before Petra’s arrival?” 

Claude frowns, eyes flicking over his frazzled state. “Yes. That you weren’t worthy of being king.”

“I want to relinquish my crown.”

_“What?_ ” 

Dimitri holds himself steady. “The people deserve more power than they have. I believe the council is the first step. Implementing a system where the common folk could have their voices heard from people _they_ choose is the next. For all of this to happen, I cannot be king.”

Claude stares at him, completely bewildered. It’s the first time in ages Dimitri has seen such an open, vulnerable expression on his face. After a moment, though, it’s gone, replaced with narrowed eyes as he looks around, hastily. He grips Dimitri’s arm in his hand, claws digging into his bicep as he propels himself into Dimitri’s space, dropping his voice.

“You’ve met a human.” 

Dimitri feels heat blossom across his cheeks. Even _without_ the blush giving it away, he knows he wouldn’t be able to lie. Claude had made it a declaration, not a question, and the fingers of his other hand reach for the bracelets he wears.

“I—”

“This is why you’re doing this,” Claude continues. “You’ve wanted this for a while, but this is what’s pushed you over the edge, huh?” 

_“Claude_.” 

“I told you I went to the surface, right?” Claude releases him, but he keeps his voice quiet, still, hyperaware that at any moment, someone could swim around the corner. “I discovered a _lot_ of things up there, things that are far more beneficial than what Edie learned whenever she went up there.”

“Beneficial to who?” he asks.

Claude smiles. It’s a rare smile, one that’s not full of teasing, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I think in this situation, _us_ instead of you, Your Kingliness.” He looks away, and Dimitri can see his mind whirling. “It’s going to take time to plan. Give me a week of your undivided attention, and I think I can make it happen.”

“A _week_?” He wants to refuse. Sylvain could be in trouble. He needs to go _now_ , but Claude sets his hand on his shoulder.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about the surface, Dimitri. A lot needs to be done here. Whichever human’s gotten lucky enough to catch your eye, I’m sure they’re a lot stronger than you think right now. They’ll be able to handle whatever’s happened to make you get so worried.”

“Sylvain has been through worse,” he murmurs, nodding, only pausing to blink when Claude makes a small face. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just—.” He shakes his head. “No never mind. C’mon, I need to find Annie.”

**.**

By the time Sylvain is slipping through the property gates, he’s an anxious mess. 

He’s taken the backroad, leaving his car off the road and mostly out of sight. He knows hardly anyone comes this way, which makes it perfect for his plan. 

He’s had a week to think things through, in between the whirlwind of being passed around his friends and all of their different ways to show how they care about him. Holst and Glenn had done most of the actual planning. Both were barely five years older than Sylvain, but they had the wherewithal to make sure Sylvain went from sleeping in the Fraldarius’ guestroom to the tiny one-bedroom Marianne’s father agreed to rent him until Sylvain was completely back on his feet. 

Sylvain’s not given a chance to panic over what’s happened. Between starting to actually work for Holst, and Dorothea and Ingrid dragging him out so he can’t get lost in his thoughts, his few moments of _rest_ means he’s thinking of different ways of to break back onto the Gautier estate to go to the docks to see if he has any chance of seeing Dimitri.

He has his doubts, as he makes his way down towards the cove. It’s been long enough. Dimitri’s probably cemented the thought that Sylvain’s the worst, which wouldn’t be completely off the mark, but Sylvain had thought he was doing better when it came to Dimitri. 

The sound of the ocean draws him close as he walks to the cove. He leaves his shoes at the edge of one of the capes that protect the inlet. He carefully walks across the rocks, trying not to flinch whenever the sea spray hits his skin. The setting sun’s rays tint the ocean with deep reds as Sylvain stops at the edge. He waits, watching the waves hit against the rocks. There’s no sign of shimmering blue scales in the swells, no indication of the golden length of Dimtri’s hair. 

His plan is not ideal.

He knows how to swim. He had taken lessons when he was a child, and Felix and Ingrid’s insistence on taking refresher courses with him had helped solidify his faith in his own ability to swim. But there was a sharp difference of swimming in a pool than there was in the ocean. In a pool, Sylvain could see through to the bottom. He would know exactly how deep was _too_ deep for his body to not kick him into a panicked state.

He’s never told anyone what truly happened on that boat ride, he just knows his friends think he got lucky, caught by a current that washed him back to the sands after the unluckiness of being swept overboard. The fear that laces through him whenever he thinks of stepping foot into the ocean isn’t unreasonable, he knows. Even Glenn softens whenever Sylvain gets jittery at the mention of it. He has no qualms going to the beach, watching from a distance. Even the past few weeks of slowly letting himself get used to getting his feet wet made him think that he might stand a chance at swimming back to the shore if he got in over his head.

But he's never tested it, not safely. The difference between swimming in a controlled environment and one as unpredictable as the ocean wasn't something that he _should_ test by himself. Not like this. 

Sylvain’s used to his self-destruction tendencies. He's gotten thrust into acting on nothing but impulse over the past week. His plan for this thought stops at step one.

_Step One: Jump into the water._

Step two doesn't exist. Not yet. He figures he'll figure out as soon as he's in the water. Maybe Dimitri's close. Maybe he's not. The waves of the cove aren't that chaotic. He can handle it.

He _will_ handle it.

He can already hear Ingrid yelling at him, Felix cursing his entire existence, but he can’t stop himself. The thought that he knows how to swim makes him roll his shoulders, close his eyes, and let out a breath. 

The thought that Dimitri might be in the water, watching, is what compels him to leap.

Sylvain does fine for the first three seconds. He doesn’t fully dip below the surface in those three seconds. His feet hit the icy water, then his legs, then his chest, then his body locks up in panic. 

All at once, his joints stiffen, fear rendering him immoveable. His instincts start screaming, every lesson he’s ever taken kicking against the barrier he’s somehow put up, unable to follow even the basics of _how to float_. 

The sun still shimmers overhead through the water, and it wouldn’t take much for him to kick up, but it’s like he’s outside of his body. He feels the panic coursing through him, rendering him frozen, but his thoughts are completely coherent. 

He doesn’t even have it in himself to find the irony of the situation. Wherever Miklan was, once he heard Sylvain firstly left the family, then wound up drowning, would probably bring him some joy. His plan from a decade before finally enacting itself in Sylvain’s own impulsive thoughts. 

He feels the burn of his lungs before the situation fully dawns on him. He closes his eyes, trying to get his arms to move, to do more than just move listlessly through the water, elbows locked. 

Before he has a chance to process that _this_ is how he dies, drowned only half a mile from his parents estate, he feels claws dig into his shoulders, ripping through the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes snap open. Through the bubbles that have formed from the rush of movement, he can barely see, but he knows exactly _who_ has a grip on him.

When they surface, Dimitri’s arms wind around his waist, holding him steady as Sylvain coughs up seawater against him.

“It’s alright, it’s alright, you’re alright, Sylvain, I have you.” 

Dimitri sounds panicked. Sylvain wants to laugh. After everything he’s done, he doesn’t quite think he deserves that concern. He can’t find his voice to state that, though. His hands move on their own, grabbing at Dimitri’s shoulders, bracing against him, and he’s moving before his thoughts have a chance to catch up.

He’s not sure if he tastes seawater from it getting in his mouth and lungs, or if Dimitri just permanently tastes of it, but it’s all he tastes when he smashes his lips to Dimitri’s. Sharp teeth nick his lower lip in Sylvain’s haste to get closer, hold _tighter_. The tang of blood gives a different taste to the salt in his mouth, but he doesn’t have time to reflect. Dimitri draws back, gasping, Sylvain’s blood smeared against his bottom lip.

“Shore,” he says, breathless, the pupil of his eye bleeding black. “Shore.”

Sylvain nods. He doesn’t find his voice until Dimitri’s dragging him up against the sands, the waves lapping against their waists. His lungs still protest what’s happened, his voice raw when he speaks, throat spasming.

"I'm sorry," Sylvain gasps, mouth tasting of salt and sea and blood. He repeats it, over and over, as the blue tipped claws of Dimitri's fingers comb the hair away from his face. " _I'm sorry, I'm sorry._ "

Dimitri's eye is wide, frantic as he checks Sylvain over. Sylvain has to tell him, though, has to make him see just how sorry he is for leaving him for as long as he did.

_"Sylvain._ " Dimitri's hand pressing against his cheek stops him in the midst of his ramble. His eye is shining with emotion, bewildering Sylvain. "You do not need to apologize. I realized why you left—it was obvious, after I told you of all the things I did in my past."

"Wh—?" Sylvain's voice chokes off on a hoarse noise. He pushes himself up, elbows digging into the damp sand. "You think I stopped coming because of _you_?"

Dimitri's hand starts to slip from his face, and Sylvain's hand snaps upwards to wrap his fingers around his wrist, keeping him in place. It startled Dimitri, but he stays, looking over Sylvain before he turns his head in an obvious display of shame.

"I am a monster, Sylvain. Your own people know this as well.”

_“Dimitri_.” Disbelief fills his tone, just with the sound of his name. “You’re not a monster.”

“I—”

“You did what you had to do to help your people, Dimitri,” he insists. He sits up, fully, letting Dimitri’s hand drop so he can take both in his own grip, holding them to his chest. “You’re good and kind—don’t argue with me, I will write down an entire essay of how you’re not the monster you think you are.”

Dimitri’s lips part, his eye wide as he holds Sylvain’s gaze. His cheeks have darkened with a blush, but he doesn’t try to wrench himself away, letting Sylvain hold him close, even when his bottom lip trembles. Sylvain leans forward, pressing his forehead against Dimitri’s, trying to tell him every emotion swirling through him without speaking. 

After a moment where they rest in silence, Dimitri speaks. His voice comes out light, breaking halfway through his sentence.

“I don’t know what an essay is.”

Sylvain exhales a long breath, his laugh starting in the trembling of his shoulders. His forehead drops, pressing against the slope of Dimitri’s collarbone as he shakes with laughter. Dimitri lets him, moving one of his hands to rest against Sylvain’s shoulder. 

When he draws back, his eyes track the movement of Dimitri’s sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip. Sylvain can’t help but remember how it felt, pressing his own against Dimitri’s, feeling the strength of Dimitri’s arms wound around him. He leans forward, tracking how Dimitri’s eye flits down to his mouth, a small, shy smile curling his lip when he releases it from his teeth’s grip. 

Sylvain lifts his free hand, the other still holding Dimitri’s in his, lacing his fingers with his. He brings it up, slipping it up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair and guide him forward. The kiss is chaste, stopped short when Dimitri pulls back. Sylvain goes, releasing him, but Dimitri’s cheeks are still pink, and the words he blurts out are not at all what Sylvain expects to hear moments after kissing him.

“I want to come on land.”

**.**

Dimitri’s overwhelmed with relief, with the kisses, with _everything_. 

He has no idea what Sylvain was thinking, diving headfirst into the water that terrifies him so, but as soon as he had hit the water, Dimitri had smelled him. His skin’s wet, clothes sticking to him, the tears in his shoulders from where Dimitri had grabbed him showing the thin, pink lines in his skin from where Dimitri’s claws scratched too hard. He had missed him so much, had been so desperate to see him again, but he hadn’t wanted it to go like this. 

He had also not meant to bring up the topic of transforming like this.

Sylvain is just _staring_ , his eyes wide, lips parted, the blood scabbing on his bottom lip. Dimitri realizes all at once what he’s just blurted out loud. He feels his face heat, the blush burning down his neck, and he pushes his arms into the sand, ready to kick himself back into the shallows so he can flee. Sylvain moves faster, his hands grabbing Dimitri’s wrists. The grip is nothing to him, he knows how easily it would be to pry his hands away, but he stills, the quiet between them broken only by the waves lapping at their bodies. Dimitri thinks he can hear Sylvain’s heart pounding in his chest, but he can’t decipher anything above the feeling of his own thudding in his chest. 

“You. . .want to come on land?” 

“I—.” He lets out a breath, wrenching his gaze away. He has never been good with speeches without preparation and this has his tongue twisted. “I want to be with you,” he states, turning back to hold Sylvain’s gaze. “I cannot think of any other way this would be possible, without inconveniencing you.” 

“Inconven—? Dimitri, you’re a _king_! Can you even—?” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, droplets flying from the red, wet tangles. “You _want_ to leave that, to be with me? _Me?_ ” 

The sheer disbelief that fills Sylvain’s tone, that self-doubt he’s learned is so akin to his own, makes Dimitri’s heart clench. He wants to claw his way into his chest, proffer his heart to Sylvain in more ways than one. He takes Sylvain’s hands in his own, trying his best to keep his claws from digging into his flesh as his thumbs run over his knuckles. 

“Sylvain.” His voice is steady, the depths of his kingly tone coming out. “I would do anything to guarantee I could be with you. It is—. It is entirely _selfish_ of me, I realize, but I—. I want to be selfish with this, with _you_. No one else. If you have qualms, then I understand. It will not be an easy transition for me, and you have already been through so much. Perhaps I have put my own feelings above your own, but I—” 

He can’t finish his statement, even though he wasn’t quite sure where it was headed. Sylvain surges, pressing their lips together, his own blunt nails digging into the skin of Dimitri’s palms before they release him, only to tangle in his hair. 

He’s dizzy by the time Sylvain draws back, breathless. Sylvain’s not much better, cheeks reddened, lips swollen and bitten. His eyes shimmer, the water’s reflections making them look a bright orange in the light of the setting sun. His fingers untangle from his hair, smoothing down to rest his hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes, leaning forward, and Dimitri’s compelled to follow, letting Sylvain rest their foreheads together again. 

“Dimitri.” His voice is rough, his breath warm against Dimitri’s lips. “If you _want_ to do this, I will support you. I don’t want you making any decision like this, based on my opinion, though.” 

Dimitri opens his mouth, words of reassurance at the ready. He wants to, he does, he wants to stay with Sylvain for as long as he’ll have him. He wants to just be _Dimitri_ , not _His Majesty_ , not carving his heart into tiny pieces to scatter across the Kingdom so that each one of his citizens may have an ounce of his soul. What he wants is to proffer it and more to Sylvain and _solely_ Sylvain. To hold him close, in a place where they are both at equal levels. So many words land on his tongue, prepared to spill his soul out in a rambled mess as he is so prone to do. 

What he actually manages to say, voice hitching halfway through, is, “I think I love you.” 

Sylvain tenses, his eyes still closed. After a breath, where Dimitri feels he can’t exhale, Sylvain pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. His lashes are clumped together with seawater, brushing his cheeks when he blinks before holding Dimitri’s eye readily. A small, gentle smile tugs at his lips, much like the one he gave Dimitri what feels like a lifetime ago, when he had dared to touch his foot while at the piers.

“Yeah?” His voice is husky, still raw from the seawater he had coughed up, but it makes Dimtri’s face heat.

He can’t formulate the words to speak. He nods, carefully, the feeling of Sylvain’s hand still warm on his neck. 

The nod has Sylvain’s smile widening, brightening into a grin. “Good.” He leans forward, presses a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thought I was the only one.” 

“Wh—?”

Sylvain hushes him before he can splutter, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you, too, Dimitri.” 

He feels his face grow hot again. “Ah—.” 

Sylvain notices, and he laughs, a delightful noise over the sound of the waves. “Why’re _you_ the one getting all blushy, huh? You told me it first!” 

“I did not think you would say it back!” 

Sylvain laughs, kissing him again. It breaks the small scab that had staunched his lip cut, and he pulls away with fresh blood smeared across his lips. Dimitri watches the way his tongue darts out, tracing over the blood to clean it, but he can’t focus on that movement when Sylvain’s hands drop, thumbs lazily tracing over the scales at his hips. 

"So, how does it work? What do you need from me?" 

Dimitri smiles. “I just want you close. Though it might not be the prettiest sight to witness.” 

Sylvain lifts a brow. “I’m not going to leave you in the midst of a transformation. It can’t be easy, even with merfolk magic.”

Dimitri chuckles, breathless at just the idea of being able to return _with_ Sylvain, not just watching him fade into the distance. "I think I'll also need some of these." His claws rake tenderly over the fabric clinging to Sylvain's chest. 

Sylvain's own hand comes up to rest over his. His heart beats steadily under Dimitri’s palm, a reassurance that he’s _here_. "It’s a good thing I’ve got some spares in my car, then,” Sylvain murmurs.

His lips curl, and then Dimitri blinks, eye narrowing as he thinks. 

“I have realized I do actually need something from you.”

Sylvain’s expression shifts in a millisecond, at the ready. It makes Dimitri’s chest feel light, makes him feel like he may very well burst from the pure love he feels.

“Tell me,” Sylvain says, voice far too serious for what Dimitri’s about to request.

“Just one thing,” he states, and leans forward.

Sylvain makes a surprised noise against his lips, but pushes back, kissing him sweetly, far too tenderly than Dimitri thinks he deserves. When they part, both breathless again. Sylvain’s grinning, which makes Dimitri’s lips curl in a smile of his own.

“Just that?” Sylvain asks. “Because I can do that more than once, if you need me to.”

Dimitri chuckles. “After. I will need plenty after.”

Sylvain’s smile crinkles his eyes, dimples his cheek. “I’ll be fully prepared to give you them.”

**.**

“Easy, I’ve got you.” 

Dimitri’s legs shake like a newborn foal as Sylvain helps him ease out of the jeep. It hadn’t been the easiest drive back to his new apartment, with Dimitri tense in the passenger seat, marvelling over every light and sound they passed. Still, they've arrived in one piece, and Dimitri's hands are warm where they grip his.

He's taller than Sylvain, with his legs, but not by much. He’s still smattered with scars and holds the bulk of fighting in a war. Dressed in Sylvain's spare hoodie, a pair of swim trunks, and his sandals, Dimitri looks like anyone who had a few too many at a beach party, clinging to Sylvain like a lifeline as they make their way towards his front door, an arm over Sylvain’s shoulders, pressing them together. 

“I did not expect this to be as difficult as it is,” Dimitri admits, chuffing a small laugh. “You make it look easy.” 

Sylvain chuckles, pressing a kiss to his temple. Dimitri’s hair is still snarled from drying in salt-stiff tangles, but it’s easy for Sylvain to brush behind his ear.

“I’ve had years of practice. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“Only with your guidance,” Dimitri states, tone serious. 

It makes Sylvain grin, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be with you for every step.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so glad I was able to finish this before the end of the month so it can still be considered mermay! 
> 
> I owe a thanks to [TK](https://twitter.com/cntrlvaneau) who encouraged me to go all in on the idea!!! you can also find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


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